


Your Tears

by risquetendencies



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Older Characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-02-03 22:36:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1758669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/risquetendencies/pseuds/risquetendencies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being faced with one usually cheerful blond raining tears wasn’t something Shintarou was entirely prepared for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Tears

His career being what it was, Shintarou had experienced many nights where stress engulfed him to a point where he was unable to function once he arrived home. Where it took all of his energy just to drag himself through the door and collapse onto the living room sofa, a tense bundle of fatigue and regret. He understood that no matter how hard one worked, you couldn’t save every patient, but there were certain cases that clutched at his heart and wouldn’t let go, even in the face of reason.

On many of those nights, he would find himself cared for by his partner. Kise’s particular brand of spunk was infectious; with enough poking and prodding, he never failed to lift Shintarou out of his moods. As far as reversals went, though, being faced with one usually cheerful blond raining tears wasn’t something Shintarou was entirely prepared for.

Tonight he’d been the first to make it home, and the doctor had spent the better part of an hour in his home office dutifully filling out a form to earn some of his continuing education credits for the year. It’d been by chance (and driven by a distressing lack of tea in his mug) that he’d ventured out, passing through the living room on his journey to the kitchen. It was there that he’d spotted Kise, entrenched on their couch, scrubbing futilely at his eyes so Shintarou wouldn’t notice his misery. That was unavoidable though, and, concerned, he’d strode over to learn the truth of why.

The cause didn’t take long to find. An opened magazine rested on the cushion beside the blond; the review printed inside was atrociously scathing. Just reading it stoked an indignant mood inside of Midorima, his own brain firing back that if he’d been able to sit through Kise’s film without finding it a waste of time, then anyone of sound mind ought to enjoy it. Sour film critics weren’t an unusual occurrence though. As he considered the remainder of the blurb, his gaze halted on a particularly venomous line.

_'Oh._ ’

“ _Kise Ryouta may have been an icon to many over the years with his flawless looks and suave mannerisms, but he seems to be lacking as of late. He appears tired, worn down, and his features are no longer shining as they once were. Perhaps it’s time he considers retirement._ ”

His heart sunk and his lips twisted into a displeased line. Beside him, Ryouta lifted his head long enough to notice he was reading, and for a moment the actor’s face radiated only humiliation. Then, frighteningly, his features morphed, that smug air that he sometimes wore as a shield surfacing. The change convoluted Shintarou’s thoughts. He wasn’t sure how to react.  
  
"See, I’m ugly now. You really shouldn’t even look at me."

What was the right answer to a quote like that? His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, uselessly anchored to the bottom when what he most desired was to dispute those fraudulent words, to win the Kise he knew and cared for back to him. 

Brows furrowed as he tried to puzzle out the best solution, Shintarou reached up and removed his glasses, gingerly laying them on the coffee table nearby. The change in visibility caused him to squint, the outline of the man in front of him blurring substantially. Through the haze, he could pick out a sweater-clad torso turning his direction, chancing a look.

"Oh," the other breathed out shakily, absorbing his actions. "Midorimacch-" was all that he heard before lips pressed sloppily against his, moist and tasting strongly of salt. Tears that were certainly not his own trailed down both of their cheeks as they kissed. Feeling awkward, he searched for somewhere to rest his palms, splaying them loosely at his lover’s sides.

"…You’re so hopeless sometimes," Kise tacked on, bumping his nose against Midorima’s. "Don’t take everything so literally."

"The distressed tone of your voice led me to think you were being genuine," he retorted at last, blinking in rapid succession as if that would somehow resolve his clouded outlook.

"No," Kise answered, matter-of-fact. Then he laughed once, wryly. "But thanks for taking my nonsense seriously."

After, he launched himself partway into Shintarou’s lap, hands lacing up snug behind his neck. It was a fierce hold, one that the green-haired knew he wouldn’t be relinquished from any time soon, but that was just fine. Pleasantly enough, it hearkened back to the embraces Ryouta would bestow on him when he was the one suffering.

Ryouta’s hugs were powerful, the blond surrounding him with a grip tighter than maybe Shintarou felt comfortable with in normal circumstances, but they always brought him back to a calm state. They were prolonged, never ceasing until Ryouta was sure that he’d be all right if they let go of each other. His hand would stroke soothingly between Shintarou’s shoulder blades, and every now and then he’d squeeze him extra hard as if to reaffirm that he was still there.

"I’ll be all right soon, you don’t have to worry," he lilted into Shintarou’s ear, bringing him back into the present. "Just hold onto me some more."

And that was precisely what Shintarou did. He figured that sometimes simple gestures sufficed where words might not.   
  
Kise sighed contentedly, nuzzling into the other’s embrace. His ear rested curiously against Midorima’s chest, soaking in the cadence of his pulse and letting it set the standard for his own. Shintarou could sense him winding down from the negative mood he’d been imprisoned in, perhaps letting logic win out over a stranger’s cruel assessment.   
  
"Aging gracefully is nothing to be ashamed of." Emboldened by the dissipating tension, he attempted a small measure of honesty, hoping it sealed the deal. Frankly, saying that much was difficult for Shintarou. He continually felt weighted down by his lack of charisma; he wasn’t a natural born flatterer like his lover was in happier times. Compliments, no matter how much he intended them on the inside, so rarely flowed successfully from his lips.   
  
Still glistening hazels upturned to survey him. “…Coming from you, Midorimacchi, I believe it.” 


End file.
